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<title>How I Came To. by Sidneystarr</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859529">How I Came To.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidneystarr/pseuds/Sidneystarr'>Sidneystarr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Altered Mental States, Anal Sex, Angst, Animal Death, Child Abuse, Depression, Diary/Journal, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Original Character(s), References to Depression, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tragedy, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:20:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859529</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidneystarr/pseuds/Sidneystarr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love her so much I could bite her tongue off and kill her.”<br/>-Inio Asano</p><p>A brutal and painful coming of age story; not all endings are happy endings, and not all stories are happy stories. </p><p>Ash has just turned sixteen. He's come from Oslo, Norway to L.A. to make a new life for himself. His mother doesn't seem to notice the dark clouds over him, and his new best friend is so loved, Ash could bite his tongue off to kill him.</p><p>A short study of one of my characters from Vampire the Masquerade as a human, and what made him this way. Told in the format of diary entries, not pressure baked stories. Take your time, for not every chapter lines up with timeline and continuity, and not every story has a happy ending. Even in pain, there are happy moments, so embrace them when you can.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character, original - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How I Came To.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey guys, I was going through a difficult time so I didn't post in ages. Working in rewriting my old stories and making new ones. </p><p>I decided to test my writing muscles by writing a short character story of Ash, one of my characters from VtM. I hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>24th Janurary</p><p>I still remember when my mother left me for the first time. I were eight, and I went hiking by the river with her. You see in Norway the forests are huge, not like the puny ones we have in L.A., so filled with wonder and joy that you could get lost in them for days at a time. </p><p>Even after living in L.A. for all these years, I still remember the forest, with its gaping big arms and wonderous trees and birds, more like a fantasy landscape that you could ever remember. I remembered how cold and rainy it were, but that didn’t bother my little stony heart. Me, in my little yellow boots trudged down the muddy little paths in the forest. </p><p>You know, back when you’re a child everything seems wonderous and magical, even the mundane. Like something out of a dream – the leaves crunching under my feet more like the bones of my fallen enemies, and the breeze against my skin feeling like a dragon’s breath against me. I walked, so preoccupied that I didn’t even notice the mouth of the dragon’s den, pulling me under and into the well as my tiny feet slipped from under me. </p><p>I’m not the noisy sort, so I didn’t notice the pain at first. Then I tried to stand, the pain hitting me with full force as I yelled out in pain. Feeling it shoot through my bones, I couldn’t help but scream out for my mother. No, this wasn’t something I typically did, neither the screams for my mother, so this frightened me so. I yelled out, limping on one good leg as I tried to reach her. </p><p>I struggled, wincing as the firey wrath of pain burned under me, tears streaming down my face. It hurt so badly, and I couldn’t bear it anymore, yelling out to her with her name on my lips. I screamed, I begged, I cried and eventually I just lay there, nursing my broken arm. </p><p>I was so scared now, my heart raced in my chest and I felt like the dragon conquered. No longer would I soar high in the sky, but I would rot, confined in my little circle of the earth prison before me. </p><p>Believe me, I sincerely fought with not only my hopes and dreams, but my arms and leg as well to try and escape the well. Still, after the sixth or so hour, you learn that crying does nothing but dehydrate you. </p><p>For a moment I thought; had I been a bad child? Had I cried too much? Would my mother never come after me? Were I going to rot here – oh, ye gods I would. </p><p>I think I were only there for one and a half days, two days if you had to push the envelope. Still, every minute felt like eternity in that horrid earthen prison, every minute of dehydration wearing down on my throat as I waited patiently for my escape. Trapped in there, every second felt like an eternity as I tried to cope. Eventually I learnt how to ignore pain, learnt how to ignore hunger and thirst that gnawed at me, learnt how to stay silent, counting the rise and fall of the sun as every night passed by. With every rise of the moon I would count off a day, licking the wet leaves around me for moisture.</p><p>Soon I learnt that distracting the self with the imagination worked wonders. No longer was I stuck in the hole, but I were now free, playing with knights made of soil, and Princesses made of roots. My mind was free, and I sat there, waiting for father death, or mother time to claim me. </p><p>But of course I weren’t dead. If I were dead, you wouldn’t find me here, writing this letter to you, would you? No, of course not. Some men came to find me, two days later in the well. They’d told me that I looked delirious and were severely dehydrated, so I didn’t remember much of the next few days, but they said they hadn’t seen a kid go through such hell and still look alive. I was stuffed in the back of an ambulance under my mother’s disapproving glare, the paramedics giving me some candies and electrolyte laced water (it tasted like bananas) and shipping me off to the ER. </p><p>My days in the ER were some of the best in my life. I felt truly happy there, alone with nothing but my GBA and my little sketchbook, without my mother’s prying eyes and critical mouth, all I could do was draw. </p><p>So draw I did. </p><p>I spent the next few days drawing on whatever I could get my hands on, filling up my sketchbook and medical pamphlets, flyers and even napkins once my papers ran out. The nurses were so nice and kind to me too, fussing over me and giving me hugs and backrubs. I didn’t want to go home, trying to push the date of my discharge back day by day.</p><p>With every passing day, I tried to make myself as sick as I could muster; I would hold my breath when they did the tests on me in a hope of making them think I couldn’t breathe well, and I would secretly dunk my thermometer in my hot chocolate so that my temperature would seem high. Ah, I was so childish back then, to think that these things would actually work.</p><p>On the third day of my stay, the doctor determined me well enough to go home. She’d given me the check-up as usual, and then she’d pat me on my back and say to my mother; I think he’s fine and ready to go home now. He’s a real trooper, most kids are a real mess after something like this, but he were even laughing and joking with the EMTs on the way to the hospital!</p><p>My face well, crestfallen wouldn’t even begin to describe it. I clung to the nurses, trying to signal to them that I didn’t want to go. I clung to the bed, looking sad at the insinuation that I had to leave. I didn’t want to go home, not to my mother, but to stay in the wonderful dreamscape that was my hospital room! I clung to the sheets, shaking my head and looking up at her. </p><p>But I had to leave. Leave I did, and left back into my mother’s house, under her critical eye and her critical tone, away from my little sanctuary. </p><p>There’s more I would like to tell you, James, but I think I’ll let you know tomorrow. I’m tired now, and I want to sleep. The winds outside are cold and blistering, and I am tired. My head is heavy and I cannot focus anymore. Goodnight James, and I’ll see you tomorrow. </p><p>Sleep well, </p><p>Ash.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hoped you liked it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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